


Tee-shirts & Tiramisu

by silver_etoile



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Chefs, Blow Jobs, Chef!Elia, M/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 11:12:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18809839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_etoile/pseuds/silver_etoile
Summary: The guy has been coming into the restaurant for a couple months, always with a date on his arm, someone new every time, but this time, Elia thinks it might be his chance to be that date.A story about a serial dater, a yellow shirt, and Elia's famous tiramisu.





	Tee-shirts & Tiramisu

**Author's Note:**

> I'm down an elippo rabbit hole.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://azozzoni.tumblr.com).

“He’s here again.”

Elia looked up from the chicken he was slicing as Martino breezed in through the swinging double doors from the dining room, stopping by the counter to pluck a piece of carrot from a dish.

“Who?”

“Our serial dater.”

Elia smiled. “We really should learn his name.”

The guy had been coming in for a couple months now, always with someone new, never the same guy twice. He always asked for the same table in the corner, the one with the candle that dripped onto the tablecloth and a clear view from the kitchen door window which meant Elia got to spend too much time watching this guy with the bleached hair and a shiny lip stud smile at a different guy every week.

Not that Elia minded. He’d grown to like this guy’s smile, the way he laughed at his dates’ jokes. Elia knew all the guy’s moves by now, from the initial smile to the hand brushing when he reached for the salt, to the not-so-subtle slide of his foot up his dates’ legs.

Martino shrugged, crunching the carrot. “I’ll check his credit card when he pays.” He paused, glancing at Elia. “Or you could just ask him.”

Rolling his eyes, Elia turned away from the door where he knew if he moved just a little to the left, he’d be able to see the guy and whoever his new date for the evening was.

“He comes in with someone new every week,” he reminded Martino, as if Martino wasn’t the one who sat the guy and took his order and refilled his wine glass every time.

He said it like it was supposed to mean something, and he turned to the stove, pulling the gnocchi off the heat. He said it as though he wasn’t dying to know who the guy had brought this time.

Last week, it had been a short little guy with piercings in every orifice and blue-tipped hair. The week before, it had been an uptight suit-wearing guy and Elia had watched him ‘accidentally’ spill sauce on the guy’s crisp, white shirt.

“You’re no monk yourself,” Martino said, arching his eyebrows. “You just told me you had a threesome last weekend.”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t a date,” Elia said. They’d both been hot, though, the couple he’d picked up—a gorgeous girl with long, blond hair, and the guy with chiseled abs and a beautiful cock. He’d slept well that night.

That wasn’t to say Elia wasn’t interested in the guy who showed up every other week with someone new, and with Martino and his running commentary on the dates, Elia felt as if _he’d_ been on plenty of dates with this guy. He already knew he was a photographer, that he had a sister, and that his favorite movie was Titanic, or anything with Tom Hardy. All first date kind of things that Martino seemed to want to tell him, as if Elia needed to know.

He didn’t need to know, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to.

Martino rolled his eyes. “I have to get back to work. I need an order of manicotti and—”

“Bruschetta, easy on the garlic.”

He wasn’t even surprised when Martino shook his head and pressed a hand to the kitchen door. “Just fuck him already, will you?”

Ignoring him, Elia let Martino leave. Martino didn’t get to talk about who Elia should or shouldn’t fuck when he already had the perfect boyfriend. Niccolò was the nicest, best-looking, weirdest guy Elia knew, and Martino was lucky to have found him. Elia, on the other hand, was still looking.

It wasn’t like he needed someone like Nico, a relationship like Martino’s. Theirs was simply too perfect to live up to. Elia would take a good fuck and maybe someone else making him breakfast for a change.

Grabbing the ricotta from the fridge, Elia began on the manicotti. Things were pretty slow tonight, slow enough that it was just Elia in the kitchen—Luca had left him early for some date Elia hoped wouldn’t end in disaster—but that was the way he liked it. That was why he hadn’t gone on to become a top chef at a fancy restaurant in the center of town after culinary school. Instead, he’d somehow convinced Martino and Gio to help him open a hole-in-the-wall restaurant with room enough for fifteen tables, the lighting a bit too dim, the bricks crumbling outside.

But people liked it. They came and ate and, in the case of the serial dater, came back again.

As he popped the manicotti into the oven, Elia couldn’t help stepping over to the door, peeking out the window to the table in the corner.

Sure enough, he was there, with his bright hair and dark eyebrows, lips Elia often thought about late at night spread in a smile at his date—some nondescript guy with black hair and brown eyes. The date didn’t seem as enthusiastic as Filippo about the whole thing, frowning at the photograph on the wall—a black and white shot of Elia, Gio, and Martino the day they’d opened the restaurant.

Elia couldn’t help smiling as he let his eyes wander over the guy’s outfit for the night—a blue and white silk over-shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a bright yellow shirt underneath, a deep v-neck that probably wasn’t appropriate for an actual date. A club maybe, but not a date. He was the kind of guy Elia would pick up in a club, the kind of guy that would catch his eye.

The date leaned back, away from the table, looking bored, and as Elia watched, the other guy’s head turned to the kitchen door.

Ducking out of the way, Elia hid against the wall. He wasn’t sure why he’d done that, like a creeper getting caught. It was his restaurant. He was allowed to look.

Shaking himself, he forced himself back to work. It wasn’t any of his business who the guy was dating, and he shouldn’t have wanted to spend the whole evening watching him. Not that he’d spent any of the guy’s previous dates sneaking glances out the window, wondering why he had so many dates, wondering if he took other dates somewhere else, what it might be like to take him home sometime.

He couldn’t exactly hit on the guy while he was on a date—he had some morals even if Martino seemed unconvinced. And the guy never came in alone.

Forcing himself to stop thinking about the guy out there on his third date this month, Elia went back to work, uninterrupted for a while, sending out the plates Martino came to collect. When the orders slowed, Elia snuck out back, leaning against the stone and lighting a cigarette. Taking a drag, he exhaled slowly into the dim light of the alley, smoke dissipating into the darkness. He barely noticed the back door opening and shutting, assuming it was Martino checking to see where he was.

Crushing the cigarette under his toe, Elia turned back, pulling open the door to the kitchen. It was empty, though, no Martino. There were no new orders, and Elia grabbed some pans to clean them as the door swung open behind him.

“Elia.” 

Elia hummed in response to Martino, waiting for the water to heat up.

“Should we tell him?”

Martino sounded concerned, and Elia turned to face him, meeting Martino’s frown.

“Tell who what?”

“Tell that guy that his date just left out the back door?”

“What?” Elia dropped the pan, moving over to the window. The guy was still there but his date was nowhere to be seen. “Shit.”

“I feel bad,” Martino said, and of course Martino would feel bad for a guy he didn’t even know. Martino was nice like that. Elia’s mind had already gone somewhere else, somewhere else that involved Elia sharing a bottle of wine with the guy back at his apartment.

Moving away from the window, Elia paused a second. This was his chance. “Don’t worry about it. I got this.”

Martino’s eyebrows went up as he leaned back against the counter. “What are you going to do, Eli?”

“Something you wouldn’t approve of,” Elia replied, giving Martino a shove. “Now get back to work.”

“There’s only one other couple out there,” Martino pointed out as Elia steered him to the door.

“Maybe we’ll close early tonight and you can spend the rest of it telling Nico how much you love him.”

“You’re an asshole,” Martino said as Elia shoved him through the door.

Elia didn’t care, turning back to his empty kitchen and getting to work.

*

The guy looked up as Elia approached his table, setting his phone down, eyes darting down Elia’s body for a second.

“Compliments of the chef,” Elia said, setting down the plate of tiramisu on the table.

The guy paused for a second, as though confused, but a knowing smile curved the corner of his lips as he sat there. 

“Do you give all your customers free desserts? Or just the ones whose dates abandon them?”

So he already knew. That made this a lot easier since he didn’t seem too upset at the idea of being left alone on a date. Elia smiled slightly, sliding into the free chair without waiting to be invited. 

“My friend felt bad. He’s a romantic.” He nodded at Martino where he was sitting at one of the tables at the front, the books spread out in front of him. Elia should have just texted Niccolò to come distract Martino.

The guy barely glanced at Martino, lifting his chin, tongue darting over his bottom lip as he grabbed a fork. “I take it you’re not a romantic?”

Elia shrugged. “Never had any reason to be,” he said easily, watching the guy take a bite of the tiramisu. The guy was even prettier up close, with full pink lips, a shadow of stubble on his jaw, thick, dark eyebrows and a gleam to his eyes as he watched Elia. “You seem to like going on dates, though.”

The guy smiled, almost a smirk, at Elia’s words, sliding the fork from his lips. “I do,” he said simply, watching Elia.

“And you seem to like my place.”

Elia hadn’t kept count of the number of dates this guy had brought here, never wondered how many he’d brought home afterward. From what Elia had seen, most of the dates seemed to go fairly well. He certainly wouldn’t have said no to a nightcap if the guy had offered.

“Well, it’s cozy,” the guy said, glancing around. “Comfortable.”

The front of the restaurant had always felt that way to Elia, the walls painted a deep burgundy and hung with photographs. Neither he nor Martino nor Gio had any decorating skills, so they’d enlisted Gio’s wife to help them out, and Eva had turned the place into somewhere, as she put it, “people wouldn’t be afraid to eat.”

The guy smiled at Elia. “And the food is amazing.” He nodded at his plate. “Service is good too.”

Elia laughed, leaning forward over the table slightly. “I’ll be sure to tell Marti that.”

The guy didn’t reply for a moment, taking another bite, and Elia wondered if he could feel the heat between them, or if he was just imagining it. Maybe he’d spent too much time over the past few months imagining it.

“So who’s the third guy?”

Blinking, Elia tilted his head in question. The guy nodded at the photograph.

“I’ve never seen him.”

“That’s Gio,” Elia replied. “He’s more of a silent partner. Doesn’t get involved with the day-to-day stuff. Comes by when he wants a free meal.”

“And you’re the chef.” The guy watched him intently, and Elia nodded, perched on his elbows. Under the table, he felt the guy’s leg shift forward, brushing against his. He bit back his smile.

“Went to culinary school and everything.”

“Fancy.” 

Elia swallowed at the guy’s knee pressed to his, gentle, careful, just a suggestion, a question. Somewhere at the front, he heard the door open and shut, Martino’s goodbye to whoever it was, and he knew it was just them. Just them and Martino typing something on his phone.

“So you learned how to cook every type of food and then you opened a traditional Italian restaurant?”

Elia laughed and he didn’t flush as the guy shifted forward, the tiramisu forgotten between them, too distracted by the way the guy’s teeth closed over his bottom lip, how his eyes flicked up to Elia’s. Elia wondered how long this had been building up, how long he’d been waiting for this moment and hadn’t even known it.

“I’m anything but predictable,” he replied, and he heard Martino’s scoff that he turned into a cough up at the front. Elia didn’t shoot him a look, but he did wish for once that Martino wasn’t his business partner/waiter and therefore always around.

“Really?” the guy asked curiously, and Elia nodded easily.

“Do you want some coffee to go with your dessert?”

The guy paused, blinking as though confused by the sudden question, the sudden change in direction. “Sure, I guess,” he agreed, and Elia smiled, pushing his leg between the guy’s, knee pressed to the inside of his thigh, a clear invitation this time.

“I’ve got this amazing Brazilian blend back at my place.”

“Oh,” the guy said, almost breathed out the word, and Elia saw the understanding in his eyes as he nodded. “That sounds fantastic.”

“It really is,” Elia replied. He licked his lips slowly, heat crawling up the back of his neck at the guy’s gaze flicking to his lips. “So should we go?”

“Don’t you have a restaurant to tend to?” the guy asked, but it didn’t sound as if he cared at all about the restaurant, and Elia didn’t either at the moment. Besides, no one had come in in the last hour and it was just them left.

“Marti’ll take care of it,” he said, rising from his chair, and the guy followed suit. “Go out front. I’ll be there in a second.”

The guy let his eyes graze down Elia this time, more obviously, and Elia knew this was going to be fucking amazing. He could feel it in the heat of his gaze, the excitement rolling around his stomach, fluttering into his chest.

The guy stepped out the door a minute later, and Martino turned to Elia immediately, and Elia knew he’d heard everything.

“‘Marti will take care of it,’” he snipped, throwing up his hands, and Elia took Martino by the shoulders. He needed this. He hadn’t known he’d needed it until he’d sat down across from the guy, seen his smile up close, but fuck, he did.

“Marti,” he said, and it was all he had to say as Martino sighed.

“Go do things I don’t want to hear about,” he said, rolling his eyes as though it was _so hard_ being Elia’s friend. “I’ll close up.”

Grinning, Elia squeezed his shoulders. “Thank you! Next time you want to fuck Nico in the office, I promise I won’t interrupt.”

Elia left Martino shaking his head, the door tinkling shut behind him as he stepped out front and found the guy waiting in a pool of light from the street lamp. He looked up as Elia emerged, a smile at his lips, and Elia stepped up to him, heart thudding excitedly in his chest.

“I’m just over there,” he said, nodding down the road. The guy nodded and they fell into step next to each other. “I’m Elia, by the way.”

“Filippo.”

Elia looked away as he grinned, and their arms brushed together as they headed into the night.

*

Elia felt it. He felt it as they climbed the stairs to his apartment. He felt it as he struggled with the old lock, the key sticking as he turned it. He felt it when he finally got the door open and stepped inside, Filippo following him as he shut the door and flicked on the hall light.

He felt it in the moment that passed between them as they stood in the foyer, Elia’s keys tossed haphazardly on the rickety table by the wall. There was a breath, a pause, a second to take it in and then they both moved.

Elia let out a noise of surprise as his back hit the wall, Filippo’s mouth on his, hard and hot, demanding in a way that made Elia want to melt into the wall, to drape himself all over Filippo and let himself be kissed until he came just like that. But that wasn’t all he wanted. 

He wanted his hands in Filippo’s hair, nails digging into the back of his neck as Filippo lifted him up and fucked him against the wall. He wanted to get on his knees and suck him off, hear the changes in Filippo’s breathing as he got closer. He wanted bite marks all over his body from Filippo’s mouth, eager and hot.

Wrapping his arms around Filippo’s neck, he hummed against Filippo’s mouth as Filippo pressed him to the wall, a knee between his legs, and his jeans were too tight as blood rushed to his cock. He didn’t think about how many other guys Filippo had done this with after dinner at his restaurant, if they all got their hands under Filippo’s shirt, gripping his sides tightly as their hips thrust together.

“How do you want to do this?” Filippo breathed against Elia’s mouth, kisses open-mouthed and slowing down until Elia groaned and tugged on Filippo’s piercing instead with his teeth, chasing the sweep of his tongue. He felt hot all over, everywhere his body touched Filippo’s, Filippo’s hands snaking down to grip his ass and pull him in tighter.

“I don’t care,” Elia gasped, grinding against Filippo, too hard in his jeans, cock throbbing with heat. They hadn’t even made it past the foyer, into Elia’s tiny apartment with his clothes scattered over every surface, dishes piled in the sink because he was always too tired after work to do them. “I want you to fuck me.”

Filippo’s noise shot straight through Elia, full of want and desperation as he hooked his hands under Elia’s thighs and lifted, pressing him to the wall. 

Elia didn’t care if they fucked right here, right where anyone passing by in the hall would hear his moans, know he was getting good and fucked. He didn’t care if everyone in his building knew.

Filippo pushed his hips into Elia, too many layers, too many clothes separating them. Between biting kisses, the slide of their lips, Elia got his hands on Filippo’s over-shirt, yanking it down his arms, and Filippo had to let go of him, let him slip back to the floor as he got it off, down to just the yellow tee shirt.

“I don’t think your date liked your shirt,” he mumbled into Filippo’s mouth, hands tight on his neck as they stumbled away from the wall, into the living room, and Elia wasn’t sure where they were going. He only cared that Filippo’s fingers were digging into his waist, that Filippo’s tongue was still in his mouth, tracing the ridges and sucking on his bottom lip. His cock throbbed as they made it past the sofa and hit another wall.

Fuck, he wanted to get Filippo naked, get his hands all over his skin and feel the warmth of his body. He’d avoided thinking about this before, when Filippo sat in the corner of his restaurant on his many dates, flirting with numerous guys, plying them with wine and smiles. He’d never let his mind wander this far—to Filippo’s mouth grazing down his jaw, tongue slick against his skin, the way he bit down on the soft skin under his ear.

“Fuck that guy,” Filippo murmured, and his fingers tugged at Elia’s jeans, slipping the button open and pulling down the zipper as Elia sighed, tilting his neck back to Filippo’s mouth to leave a mark at the base of his throat. “I didn’t like him anyway.”

“Then why’d you go on a date with him?” Elia asked, but he didn’t really care about the answer, not when Filippo’s hand slid into his jeans and wrapped around his cock.

“I knew I’d at least get a good dinner out of it,” Filippo replied, and Elia felt his grin against his skin.

“Well, I like your shirt,” Elia said, sucking in a breath at Filippo’s fingers tightening their grip on his prick, and he leaned into him, reaching for the hem of said shirt. “I’d like it better off.”

Filippo’s laugh was cut-off as Elia pulled the shirt over his head, forcing him to take his hand away. Pulling Filippo back to his mouth, Elia kissed him hard, a slick slide of lips that made his skin tingle, eager for more.

Grabbing Filippo’s arm, Elia tugged him away from the wall, into the open doorway next to him. The bedroom was dark except for the city lights shining in the window, casting shadows over furniture, illuminating the bed that Elia pulled Filippo onto. Stripping off his shirt, he kicked off his shoes and shoved his jeans down, not wasting any time, and Filippo didn’t either.

Elia watched eagerly as Filippo got his shoes off and pulled down his jeans, quite a bit tighter than Elia’s, leaving them in a pile on the floor as he climbed on the bed with him, smiling when Elia got his hands on Filippo’s ass and brought their hips together.

“Fuck,” Elia breathed, heat coursing through his body as their cocks slid together. Filippo’s was hot and heavy, and Elia could feel the pulse of blood in his own dick.

“Condoms,” Filippo muttered against Elia’s cheek, and he felt Filippo’s shaky breath as their hips thrust together. Filippo’s mouth fell to Elia’s neck, pressing searing kisses down his collarbone, along his rib cage, and it took every ounce of brain function Elia had to fumble for the condoms in his nightstand drawer, shaking one out of the box and grasping for the lube as Filippo’s tongue slid down his chest, circling a nipple, and he arched into the touch.

Elia couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hard, this desperate to get off. Sure, the threesome last weekend had been good, but it had been a little too much work, a little too much thinking.

He didn’t have to think with Filippo grabbing the condom where he dropped it on the mattress, tearing it open and pulling back to slide it on his cock. He didn’t have to think when Filippo’s hands pushed at his side, rolling him onto his stomach. Filippo’s mouth pressed to his shoulder blade, the cluster of freckles there, teeth scraping over his skin as Elia shivered, let out a breath, his cock aching beneath him.

Filippo’s hands smoothed up his hips, his body warm as he draped over Elia’s back, and he felt the press of Filippo’s cock against his ass, a careful thrust against him before it disappeared and he felt Filippo’s fingers, slick with lube, pressing inside.

Groaning, Elia’s fingers curled into the pillow and he shut his eyes, breathing in deeply as Filippo worked his fingers inside him, stretching him open. Every crook of Filippo’s fingers sent blood rushing from his brain, pooling in his stomach as he grit his teeth.

Exhaling slowly, he opened his eyes as Filippo’s fingers disappeared and he felt the hot stretch of Filippo’s cock pressing inside. Filippo’s body was hot against his, hips tight against his ass as he sank inside him, legs bracketing Elia’s as he thrust in, slow at first, almost agonizingly slow.

“Oh fuck,” he murmured into the pillow, cheeks flushed as Filippo rocked in against him, his body so full of him. “Yeah, fuck, _more_.”

He felt Filippo’s exhale against his back, fanning over his shoulder blade as he picked up the pace, fucking Elia so good, hot and hard and fast all at the same time as Elia bit back a noise.

His cock ached, pressed to the mattress, not enough friction to come, and he groaned, pushing back against Filippo, trying to create space to get his hand on his cock.

Swallowing hard, Elia let out a breath, falling into the feeling of Filippo’s cock pressed deep inside him, the tingling stretch of his skin, a good kind of pain he wanted more of.

It wasn’t enough, not enough to get off with Filippo dragging Elia’s hand away from his cock, pressing it to the mattress as he fucked him, rocked his hips down, sharp thrusts that made Elia bite his lip and bury his moan in the pillow, the tips of his ears hot as he felt Filippo’s mouth on his back, panting against his skin as he moved, felt Filippo’s hips stutter as he came, a sharp breath against Elia’s shoulder.

“Fuck,” he heard Filippo mutter, his forehead resting on Elia’s back, hips slowing as Elia lay beneath him, aching to get off.

Elia didn’t say anything as Filippo pulled out, a sharp shudder as Filippo slid off of him, and he was surprised at Filippo’s hands shoving at his sides, rolling him over, onto his back.

Filippo wasted no time sliding down, taking Elia in his mouth, and Elia cursed loudly as his head snapped back, toes curling at Filippo’s lips on his cock, tongue sliding over the underside as he sucked, cheeks hollowed when Elia glanced down.

Elia wasn’t going to last long, not with Filippo taking him in as deep as he could, slick and wet, fingers smoothing over his balls until he felt like he was going to explode. Stomach tightening, Elia groaned as he came, hips pushing up into Filippo’s mouth, and Filippo let him, let him come and swallowed around Elia’s cock.

“Shit,” Elia muttered as he sank back onto the bed, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes as the release washed over him, air cool against his skin, the sweat on his brow. He heard Filippo move, felt the mattress shift as Filippo lay down next to him, heard his exhale.

Elia didn’t open his eyes, content to lay there in the dark bedroom, a smile spreading across his face. It wasn’t how he’d seen his day going when he’d gotten to the restaurant this morning, but he wasn’t complaining. After months of Filippo bringing his dates to the restaurant, he had finally gotten to see what happened after Filippo took his dates home.

“I never got that coffee,” Filippo said after a long moment, and Elia laughed, glancing over at him.

Filippo smiled in return, sighing easily. Elia hadn’t really taken him in besides his face and his cock, and his eyes flitted down his chest, the tattoo on his arm, the hole in his ear where there should have been an earring.

He didn’t want to think about what was next, what he was supposed to do. He’d just had amazing sex and that was all he wanted to think about with Filippo in his bed.

“Maybe later,” Elia replied finally, meeting Filippo’s gaze, and Filippo didn’t reply, gazing back.

*

Elia blinked awake in the sunlight streaming through the window, grimacing into his pillow and rolling over. He didn’t want to get up, wanted to stay in his warm bed forever.

He wasn’t wearing any clothes, he realized as he lay there under just the thin top sheet, not even boxers, which was what he usually wore to bed. Cracking an eye open, he chanced a glance at the other side of the bed, but it was empty. He almost let out a sigh of relief, but he didn’t.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected after last night, if Filippo would leave and never come back to the restaurant or if he’d wake up to Filippo in his bed, ready to go again. He wasn’t sure which one he wanted, if he was honest with himself.

“You’re up.”

Elia’s head swiveled to the door, falling on Filippo standing there, a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Hi,” Elia managed at length, pushing himself up and taking in Filippo. He had clothes on—at least his yellow shirt and a pair of boxers.

“I found the coffee,” Filippo said, lifting his cup. “Made some if you’re interested.”

Elia wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t that he didn’t date or have boyfriends or girlfriends. He just hadn’t expected Filippo to stay.

“Do you do this for all your dates?” Elia asked instead of getting up, watching Filippo lean against the door frame. He was adorably mussed, Elia found himself thinking, shirt wrinkled and hair sticking up in weird places.

“Just the ones who bring me tiramisu,” he replied, and Elia tilted his head to the side.

“Really?” he asked, and Filippo nodded, not moving from the doorway.

“I don’t sleep with every guy I date,” he said. “In fact, the last couple were just an excuse.”

“An excuse,” Elia repeated, raising his eyebrows.

Filippo nodded, watching Elia, as though the distance between them was more than a few feet. “I wanted to see if you’d ever come out of the kitchen.”

Elia paused, thinking. He knew Filippo had seen him looking on occasion, through the window. He hadn’t exactly been discreet, especially when Martino came back to announce he was there every time. He supposed maybe he should have expected this from the way Filippo was smiling at him now, as though he could see him putting two and two together.

“That last guy,” he said, glancing up at Filippo. “Did he really walk out on you?”

Filippo laughed. “That was a blind date my sister insisted on. I guess he didn’t like the look of me.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” Elia allowed, and there was no use denying that he was attracted to Filippo. That was pretty obvious after last night.

Filippo shrugged in response, tongue darting out to his lips. “It happens, but I wasn’t really interested in him anyway.”

Sliding to the side of the bed, Elia paused before pushing himself up. He didn’t bother to cover himself, and Filippo’s eyes didn’t drift down, politely keeping them on his face.

He wasn’t sure what it meant, that Filippo was still here, telling him all this. It wasn’t as if they knew each other, and Elia had had enough one-night stands to know how it went.

“So,” he said after a second, stepping up to Filippo and stealing his coffee cup, taking a sip. “Where does this go from here?”

“I have more coffee,” Filippo said, and Elia shook his head. He shrugged. “I didn’t really have a plan after this.”

Elia paused, taking another sip. “What do you normally do at this point?”

“Normally I say I’ll call and then I never do,” Filippo admitted, but he smiled at Elia. “But I don’t know if I could give up your restaurant.”

“Well, you don’t have to,” Elia said, setting the coffee aside. He wasn’t sure what any of this meant, and in the back of his mind, he could hear Gio’s voice saying, ‘it means he likes you, you idiot!’

“Maybe you could reserve my table,” Filippo said, “because I’ll definitely be back.”

“One fuck and you think you deserve a table, huh?” Elia asked, amused, smiling when Filippo frowned.

“Who said it was one?”

Elia couldn’t help laughing as Filippo leaned in to kiss him, tasting like coffee, still warm with sleep, and he sighed as Filippo pulled away. Apparently that was all it took to win over Elia, and he wasn’t ashamed as he caught Filippo’s gaze darting down.

“Okay, one more then maybe you can have a table. If you show up.”

“I will,” Filippo assured him, and as he kissed Elia again, Elia wrapped his arms around Filippo’s neck and tugged him back toward the bed. He couldn’t help grinning as they fell onto it, and if later he texted Martino he’d be late for prep, he didn’t really mind. After all, he had a date to finish.

*

FIN


End file.
